


Vampires of Melonville

by BlossomTime



Category: SCTV (Canada TV)
Genre: Earl is quite stupid, M/M, Vampires, gay draculas, small town gays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-28 07:03:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8436058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlossomTime/pseuds/BlossomTime
Summary: Earl Camembert has some concerns about Count Floyd, and possibly himself, that he brings to Floyd Robertson.





	

Floyd Robertson was deep into rewriting wire copy for the SCTV evening newscast when he felt someone lurking behind him. Earl was trying very hard to look casual. Well, emotionally casual, at any rate. Earl’s usual massive bow tie had turned to its autumnal palette of eye-searing oranges and reds, somehow never remotely complementing his sports jacket and plaid slacks.  
“What is it, Camembert?” Floyd snapped, purposefully mispronouncing his name.  
“Do you know anything about draculas?” Earl asked, sounding worried.  
“What? Are you trying to add some color to a puff piece on a blood drive?”  
“No. Puff piece? I would never… “ Earl blustered.  
Floyd stood and walked away, not waiting for Earl to get his thoughts together. 

The next time Earl asked, Floyd was waiting for the teletype machine. Earl had to repeat himself to be heard over the racket of keys.  
“I don’t know, Earl,” Floyd answered, “they drink blood, turn into bats, hate sunlight?”  
“The guy who hosts the late late horror show, do you think he turns into a bat?”  
Floyd turned to Earl, dead-eyed. Was he _fucking_ with him? Floyd was the head of the news department at SCTV, the head anchorman, a serious journalist. But Guy Caballero had laid down the law when he was hired: if you take the job, you have to host the horror show. He’d had to take on the same cape the last guy had and host spooky movies as Count Floyd. Every week, he had to endure this humiliation, but at least is was after the day crew had gone home. Now Earl was trying to make something out of it.  
“Yes. Absolutely.” Floyd’s tone was sharp enough to cut glass. “I’m sure Count Floyd turns into a bat. Now get back to work. Don’t you have a cutest baby competition to cover?” He yanked the printout from the teletype and stalked off. 

“Look, I’m serious.” Earl was squirming, trying to keep his voice quiet enough to not be heard by anyone else on the news set.  
“Even when you’re serious, you’re not serious, Earl.” Floyd busied himself as best he could with the night’s news stories on the otherwise empty desk.  
“This Count, do we really know anything about him? Where he’s from? Has he… killed anyone?”  
Jesus. Jesus Christ. He wasn’t teasing. Did Earl honestly not know? Though if he had to pick one person at the station who could be so monumentally stupid as to be unaware of his dual identity, it would be Earl.  
Earl seemed to struggle with something internally. “The thing about draculas is they can hypnotize you. They… they can draw people into their influence, against their will!”  
“Is this something you’re concerned about?” Floyd kept his tone neutral. This was either hilarious or the saddest thing he had ever witnessed.  
“Maybe. Yes. I don’t know.” Earl actually seemed tortured. “I mean, I’m only asking because, you know, you know about--” here Earl waggled his hand in a gesture somewhere between a hello and a hula dancer’s flourish.  
“I can’t say I do know. What do I know about?”  
“Men, you know. Men who like other men. Twilight gentlemen. I’d never say light in the loafers-- but you’re _worldly_.” Oh, for Pete’s sake, _this_ was what he was perceptive about? “I think I’m falling into the Count’s thrall. He’s got this _Transylvanian magnetism_. What should I do?”  
This was now officially tragic. Floyd called on every ounce of mercy and dignity in his soul to cut this poor idiot some slack.  
“In my experience with twilight gentlemen,” he said, as gently as he could, though still not looking at Earl, “is that they can only enthrall you if you want it. And lots of guys might think about... being enthralled... at some point in their life, but it doesn’t have to mean anything. Only a few become vampires.”  
Earl let out a gust of breath, and laughed with obvious relief. “Thanks, Floyd. Thank you. And, y’know, don’t tell any of the crew guys. I don’t think they understand about draculas.”  
Floyd hoped he still had some whiskey in his desk drawer. 

The nights he filmed as Count Floyd were always rough. Edward R. Murrow would never put up with this kind of degradation. He had to constantly stop himself from scratching his painted-on widow’s peak. Filming nights meant he missed Gay Night at the Melonville Tap Room. Well, they called it Gay Night, it was really just the only night there wasn’t an NHL game. Or CFL. Or curling. Jesus, this town. For a hick town, Melonville could be weirdly progressive, if only by being too lazy to be otherwise. Not that he’d be missing any action. It was usually just him and Mrs. Falbo drinking beer and shooting the shit while the young kids cruised each other and ignored anyone over 30. 

Caballero didn’t mind if he smoked on set and the crew was always willing to let him bum smokes. But tonight he was feeling… whatever the fuck this was, feeling sorry for poor stupid Camembert, bane of his existence, a disorientingly new feeling. So he soaked his lungs in nicotine while leaning outside the fire door. 

He noticed a dark shape making its way toward him. Earl. Floyd ground out his butt under his heel. 

“I’m not afraid of you,” Earl said from the edge of a pool of light, clearly lying. “I asked a friend about your kind. You have no power over me.” A friend? Floyd’s heart sank. He really didn’t want to care about this doofus. “But I wanted to… I just wanted to know… I could give you some blood? Just a little bit, though. It must be hard to be a dracula in Melonville.” 

Floyd put a finger to Earl’s lips to shut him up before he ruined this tiny kindness with any more words. Earl scrunched his eyes tightly closed and bared his throat. Floyd pushed Earl’s collar aside and pressed his mouth to Earl’s pulse. When Earl’s eyes opened again, Count Floyd was gone and a massive hickey was blooming on his neck. 

**Author's Note:**

> I can't see Earl and Floyd getting much closer than this, so I'll need to find another SCTV pair to ship next.


End file.
